


Dreaming of a Hobbit and Giant Eagles

by Dominique_Moreau



Series: Two Souls One Detective [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A Wizard Did It, Alternate Universe - Past Lives, BAMF Bilbo, BAMF John, Dreams, Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Episode: s01e02 The Blind Banker, Episode: s01e03 The Great Game, Gandalf Loves To Meddle, Gandalf is The Wizard That Did It, Giant Eagles, Greg is Gandalf, Hobbit Giant Eagle Plot Hole Fix, Hobbitlock, John was Bilbo in a Past Life, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Plot Hole Fix, Post The Great Game, Rating May Change, Reincarnation, Sauron!Sherlock, Sherlock's Dreams Can Time Travel, Smauglock, Somehow, Specifically the Warning About Depictions Of Graphic Violence, Tags May Change, This Was Originally Going to be a Oneshot But Got Away From Me, Timey-Wimey, Warnings May Change, for the greater good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 18:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominique_Moreau/pseuds/Dominique_Moreau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The real reason Sherlock hates to sleep is because sometimes when he dreams the dreams bleed into reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting John Watson

**Author's Note:**

> I am American so feel free to Brit Pick me. In fact, please do. I am fairly confident in my British Slang vocabulary but realize I most likely don’t know all of it. I firmly appreciate concrit and mainly ask that if you are going to criticize my writing tell me how or why it’s bad and possibly tell me ways to improve if want to. Gushing praise, no matter how exaggerated or insincere, is also very welcome. Also kudos. I’m not very picky on feedback. All of it's welcome. First time writing in these fandoms so if anyone is egregiously OOC feel free to point it out in any manner of harshness or lack thereof you may choose. Also, please tell me if I mess up my facts from cannon, particularly for The Hobbit of which my knowledge is drawn from the recent movie and what I half remember from reading the book years ago.

The first time one of Sherlock’s dreams manifest he is six, although he does not realize it at the time. He finds himself riding on the back of a very large, very, for no reason he could possibly fathom, familiar dragon. They fly over lush green fields, much like the landscape in New Zealand Sherlock’s mind tells him, and a rather far above the ground. Sherlock holds on to the dragon’s neck with all the strength he can muster and wonders why he’s not being eaten. Most lore points to dragons having an appetite for human flesh among other things making his continued presence outside the dragon’s stomach somewhat baffling. Just as the dragon is coming up to what looks like an old timey village on a solitary mountain Sherlock wakes up in his bed. He decides to write it off as a pointless dream and starts his morning routine.

 

* * *

 

The first time Sherlock realizes his dreams manifest he is twelve. He appears in the room of a very bewildered Mycroft. Sherlock is currently mid epic swordfight as a pirate against a ship Captain in the British Royal Navy. Mycroft stares until Pirate Sherlock and his foe fade away. The next morning is very interesting.

“Sherlock, what is your… opinion about pirates?”

Mycroft’s sudden question startles Sherlock enough that he forgets to carefully formulate his response and instead answers quite bluntly.

“I like pirates. I find them interesting.”

Mycroft raises an eyebrow. “Interesting enough to fantasize being one?”

Sherlock’s eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. “What?”

Mycroft looks smug. Very very smug. “As childish as your fantasy was last night I am quite interested in exactly how you managed to project it into my room last night. My understanding is that such a talent is rather unique.”

Sherlock remembers his dream from last night and blushes in mortification. He glares at his brother.

“Shut up, Mycroft.” This only makes Mycroft smile in a very self-satisfied manner, which in turn only makes Sherlock glare harder. This vicious cycle continues until Mummy reminds them that, yes, they still need to get ready for school that day. Thus a sibling rivalry for the ages is born.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock remembers his past lives after a near death experience at sixteen. Apparently, practicing making deductions (yes practicing, no matter how brilliant Sherlock may be he wasn’t born able to deduce an airline pilot by his left thumb) on members of his school’s rugby team is a very bad idea and can lead to life threatening injuries being inflicted by said rugby team. During his near death experience Sherlock gains the memories of both his past lives. He has no idea how or why he is the reincarnation of both Smaug (who he now knows is the dragon from his dream when he was six due to Smaug’s memories of the event) and Sauron and wouldn’t rightly care except for the small, or not so small, mystery of his soul somehow being two souls merged together. Despite everything he later learns about reincarnation he never ends up finding an acceptable answer for that one beyond the possibility that a wizard did it, most likely Gandalf if he’s being completely honest with himself.

This is, of course, the correct explanation. Gandalf truly loves to meddle, especially in the interest of the greater good, and trying to redeem two dark souls at once is too fun an opportunity for the old codger to pass up. It’s only Sherlock’s stubbornness preventing him from accepting the truth as, well, the truth.

 

* * *

 

The first familiar reincarnated soul he comes across is, to his annoyance, Gandalf. He never quite figures out if Greg Lestrade remembers being the meddlesome old wizard, as the only evidence is that very knowing look Lestrade occasionally gets that is more Gandalf than Lestrade, and finds he doesn’t rightly care if he does. The knowledge will not change the fact that the wizard is still a manipulative old bastard that refuses to give Sherlock cases if he isn’t clean.

 

* * *

 

The second time he meets a reincarnated soul is the day he meets John Watson. He later cannot believe his good fortune of meeting and becoming close to such a singular soul.

(He never finds out that Greg contrived this meeting. That is something only John ever ends up learning over a few beers at the pub along with the fact that Greg isn’t the reincarnation of Gandalf. Greg _is_ Gandalf; the ever meddlesome wizard never actually died. John and Greg’s visits to the pub become quite a bit more interesting after that.)

 

* * *

 

“A bit different from my day.”

Sherlock looks discretely up briefly to glance at the source of the familiar voice of Bilbo Baggins. He sees a man who looks exactly like the brave hobbit of Bag End. His mind immediately begins deducing the man.

_Military stance, bearing and haircut. Tanned but Not Tanned Above the Wrists. Soldier Recently Returned, Invalided due to Injury, from Middle East, either Afghanistan or Iraq. With Mike so Looking for a Flat Share. Clothes and Looking for a Flat Share indicates Not Wealthy. Likely Living off Army Pension. Opening Comment plus the Callouses on his Hands means Doctor, obviously some kind of Surgeon most likely a Trauma Surgeon though not guaranteed. Callouses indicate Left Hand Dominate but Shoots Right Handed. Walks with a Limp in his Right Leg. Muscle Twitches indicate Limp is due to Pain. No Pain present while Standing. No. He Forgets to feel Pain while Standing. Limp is Psychosomatic. Holds Cane in Right Hand and Wears Watch on Left Wrist. Two Possibilities for Cane being held on Side of Limp: A) Injury to Left Arm or Shoulder causes Pain While Holding Cane on Left Side OR B) Doctors More Likely to Use Cane on Wrong Side. Not enough Data. Two Possibilities for Watch on Left Wrist: A) Habit OR B) Switched due to Using Cane on Right Side. No Tan Line from Watch on Right Wrist makes (A) more likely but not enough to state with confidence. Slight Tremor in Left Hand. Psychosomatic Limp plus Slight Tremor in Left Hand means Has a Therapist. Likely Diagnosed with PTSD (which is ridiculous if he is anything like Bilbo Baggins). Therapist is an Idiot (Forgone Conclusion, Most Humans are Idiots)._

He returns to looking through his microscope. He is very satisfied with the perspective flatmate Mike chose. An army doctor with Bilbo’s personality will be very useful to him and his work. He hopes somewhat that the man doesn’t remember. He wants to avoid unnecessary resentment.

Sherlock asks, “Mike can I borrow your phone? There’s no signal on mine.”

Mike replies, “What’s wrong with a landline?”

Sherlock says, “I prefer to text.”

Mike responds by saying that he left his phone in his coat.

“Uh, here…” Sherlock looks up to see the man taking his phone out of his jacket pocket.

“…use mine.” He holds the phone out to Sherlock. Their eyes meet as Sherlock moves to take the phone.

_Slight Widening of Eyes. Could be Recognition. Could be Something Else. Slight Pupil Dilation. Breath Catches Slightly. Breathing Slightly more Shallow. Most Likely Possibilities: A) Fear and/or Surprise at Recognition OR B) Attraction and Sexual Arousal._

His eyes flick briefly to the man’s cheeks.

_Slightly Flushed. No Anger Visible. Either Embarrassed and/or Slightly Aroused. (B) More Likely._

Sherlock smiles slightly. “Oh, thank you.” As Sherlock reaches for the phone Mike introduces the man as his old friend John Watson. _Friend from Uni._ Sherlock decides to impress John. If the man is anything like Bilbo it should go over well. He hopes. He takes the phone.

_Recent Model: About Six Months. Rather Banged Up. Scratches on Charger Port. Engraving: To Harry Love Clara XXXX. Expensive Enough of a Model to be a Luxury. Man Like John (Like Bilbo) would not treat such an Expensive Gift (Item from Family) so Harshly. No Evidence of Alcoholism in John. Gift from Family Member, Likely getting a Divorce, Definitely leaving a Long Standing Romantic Attachment, with a Drinking Problem. Most Likely from a Brother. Young Man Gadget. Looking for Flatshare Precludes Extended Family. Harry Left Clara. If Clara Left, Harry would Keep the Phone due to Sentiment. Six Months Old and just Giving It Away: He Left Her._

Sherlock smirks slightly as he texts his client.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” A brief glance at Mike shows that he has a pleased smile. Sherlock takes that as encouragement.

John looks confused. “Sorry?”

Sherlock asks again, “Which was it Afghanistan or Iraq?” John looks both confused and intrigued. As he glances at mike his eyebrows twitches slightly.

John looks down and then at Sherlock as he replies. “Afghanistan, sorry, how did you…?”

The door opens and Sherlock looks up as Molly walks in. “Ah, Molly. Coffee. Thank you.” He hands John his phone back as he talks to Molly. He looks back to John to now see a slight disapproval there. John has a quite remarkably expressive face and does nothing to mask his emotions. Sherlock is finding himself entertained by John’s expressions and enjoying the man’s responses. He finds himself wanting to impress John and for John to genuinely like him.

Sherlock asks, “How do you feel about the violin?”

John replies, “I’m sorry, what?”

Sherlock looks at John and clarifies, “I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.” Sherlock twists his lips in a false smile for pleasantries sake. John seems to have settled on simply being bewildered at this point. John’s eyes dart from Sherlock to Mike a few times.

John turns his head to look at Mike. “You told him about me.”

“Not a word.” Mike’s practically radiating amusement at this point. If Sherlock was not absolutely certain Lestrade is Gandalf, he would be suspecting Mike of being the damnable wizard. As it is, Sherlock is quite certain Mike is just Mike.

John turns back to Sherlock and asks, “Then who said anything about flatmates?”

Sherlock puts his coat on while he explains, “I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is, just after lunch with an old friend clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn’t a leap.”

John looks down slightly. “How did you know about Afghanistan?” He looks back at Sherlock, challenging him.

“Got my eye on a nice little place in Central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it.” Sherlock continues as he gets ready to leave. He wraps his blue scarf around his neck, grabs his phone and stops in front of John on his way towards the door. It seems even here he towers over John.

“We’ll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o’clock.” Sherlock tilts his head briefly and starts moving towards the exit once more. “Sorry, got to dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.” He enjoys the confused bewilderment this statement elicits from John. John blinks three times then quickly recovers and turns to keep Sherlock within sight.

John asks, “Is that it?”

Sherlock, looking very impressive and very dramatic in his full ensemble, turns towards John. “Is that what?” Sherlock puts his hands in his coat pockets as has he moves to stand in front of John. He stops as they’re standing face to face.

John asks, “We’ve only just met and we’re going to go look at a flat?”

Sherlock locks eyes with John. “Problem?” He ends his question with a slight smile. John doesn’t back down. Instead, he glances at Mike and emits a rough short laugh with barest twitch of the sides of his mouth before turning back to stare down Sherlock, something he most absolutely pulls off despite his height.

John says, “We don’t know a thing about each other. I don’t know where we’re meeting. I don’t even know your name.”

_Strength. Interest. Inquisitiveness. Amusement. Challenge._ Sherlock reads all of these John’s expression, from look in John’s eye and the subtle twisting of John’s smile. Sherlock locks his gaze with John’s, accepting the challenge presented by this man who went to war, by the hobbit that bested a dragon.

“I know you’re an army doctor and you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you have a brother…” John’s eyebrows twitch into a brief small furrow at the word brother. “…who’s worried about you, but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him, possibly because he’s an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife.” Sherlock can tell he’s hit home as John’s eyes widen slightly smoothing his whole face into a look of dawning comprehension. “…And I know that your therapist thinks your limp…” Sherlock looks down at John’s leg. “…is psychosomatic…” John looks down at his own leg. “…quite correctly I’m afraid.” Sherlock’s eyes flick back up to John’s face. As Sherlock presents his deductions a small, invisible but for slight changes in the eyes, look of awe replaces the challenge previously present in John’s expression.

Sherlock moves away while keeping his eyes on John. “That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think?” John stands there looking straight ahead, seeming to still be processing it all. Sherlock exits the room before returning, hanging just so in the door way so that the door blocks most of his figure.

John looks towards Sherlock at the sound of the detective’s voice. “The name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street.” Sherlock winks at John as he bids John and Mike afternoon and does not fail to notice how this triggers the return of a slight flush in John’s cheeks.

_Definitely (B) Attraction and Sexual Arousal._


	2. A Hobbit and an Army Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter is not completely finished. Probably. There was one more scene I wanted to be in this chapter but isn’t. I would not care terribly, however, if this scene were in chapter 3 instead. Simply, next time the story updates just check the end of this chapter (I use the dividers to separate scenes so just start at the last divider) to see if I added the scene here or included it in the next one. 
> 
> Going back over this I realised I got the engraving on John’s phone wrong. While I usually try to be as accurate as possible I also don’t feel like going back and changing such a minor fact when I find I like my mistake better than the canon engraving. If it becomes plot relevant in a way that the new one hinders plot in season three when it comes out I’ll go back and alter it but otherwise it staying the same. See end chapter notes for news on future updates.

Sherlock goes to sleep the night, well, early morning if one is truly honesty, after he meets John. He knows it is inevitable, he’s rather tired exhausted from coming off a case he’s worked on a straight 36 hours and moving his possessions, of which he has a good number due to left over instincts from Smaug, specifically hoarding. He finds himself in the mountain he inhabited when he was Smaug, and apparently at the time he was Smaug. He can see the dragon that comprises one half of his soul sleeping quite dramatically on the piles of gold abound in the chamber. He tugs his cloak—yes, he sees now that he’s wearing a cloak along with other clothes typical of a habitually travelling human in Middle Earth—around himself.

There is a tugging in the back of his mind he can’t quite place until he sees the young hobbit Bilbo dart out of a side cavern, the tugging growing stronger the closer Bilbo comes to Sherlock. Bilbo is dressed in a dark cloak, cream scarf, red jacket, dark green waistcoat, white undershirt, and dark brown trousers. There is a sword of elven make fastened to him in a manner meant to be drawn with his right hand. Sherlock notices the plain gold ring he wears on his hand. The part of him that is Sauron recognizes The One Ring. Bilbo looks mildly perplexed as he moves about the cavern, invisible to all but those connected to The Ring’s power. Shooting the cavern one more befuddled look, Bilbo exits leaving behind a fading Sherlock swiftly returning to the waking world. Sherlock wakes to see he has five hours before John comes to see the flat. He leaves for St. Barts to get some work done before John comes to move in.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock’s cab arrives just as he sees John limping towards the flat. Sherlock closes the door to the cab while John goes up to knock on the door. John’s wearing a different jacket today, a black one that has leather patches on the shoulders and elbows. Sherlock pays the cabbie and turns towards John and the flat.

“Hello.” John turns towards the sound of Sherlock’s voice.

“Ah, Mr Holmes hello.” John turns around to greet Sherlock.

“Sherlock, please, we’re flatmates.” Sherlock shakes John’s hand in greeting.

“Then feel free to call me John.” John looks at the doorway to 221B Baker Street. “This is a prime spot, must be expensive.”

Sherlock says, “Mrs Hudson, the landlady, she’s giving me a special deal. Owes me a favour. A few years back her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida; I was able to help out.”

John asks, “So you stopped her husband being executed?”

Sherlock gives a slightly chilling and very self-assured smile. “Oh no, I ensured it.” John looks a little surprised by that.

“Was he guilty?” Sherlock looks at John.

“Beyond all doubt.” The door opens and Mrs Hudson greets Sherlock with a hug as Sherlock introduces John. She’s wearing a purple dress. She beckons them inside and up the stairs. Sherlock waits for John, going slowly due to his limp, at the top. Sherlock opens the door to a nice homey flat, despite the lab equipment and clutter. It is a Victorian styled living place right down to the rich wall with a stylized fleur-de-lis pattern. The kitchen is set up as a lab, leaving barely any room for its originally intended function. There is a closed door at the far end. The main living area is lined with stacks of boxes. Every surface that is not the middle of the beautiful red patterned carpet or the very comfortable looking arm-chairs and sofa is lined with an assortment of knick-knacks and clutter. The bookshelves are filled with many kinds of journals, scientific and otherwise. The beautiful fire place has various objects on the mantle including a genuine human skull. There is another set of stairs off to the side.

John looks around. “Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed.”

Sherlock smiles. “Yes, yes I think so, my thoughts precisely. So I went straight ahead and moved in.”

John’s lips twitch into a small smile. “That would explain the clutter.”

Sherlock looks at John for a few seconds before going over to the nearest stack of boxes and attempting to organize the papers. “Well, obviously, I can straighten things up a bit.” He puts some of the papers on the mantle and stabs them with a knife. He hears a faint but good natured laugh. He looks up to see a John’s warm smile.

“It’s fine, Sherlock, just having you on a bit. We’re flatmates after all.” John looks at the skull on the mantel and points at it with his cane. “That’s a skull.”

Sherlock takes a quick look at the skull. “Friend of mine, well, when I say friend…” He looks at John, then the skull, then John again and stalks off towards the table where he starts taking off his usual coat and scarf to reveal a well-tailored suite and very tight white button up shirt underneath.

Mrs Hudson says, “What do you think Doctor Watson? There’s another bedroom upstairs, if you’d be needing two bedrooms.”

The slight flush reappears in Johns face. “Yes, yes, we’ll be needing two.”

Ms Hudson simply responds, “Oh, don’t worry, there’s all sorts round here. Mrs Turner next door’s…” her voice drops to a whisper. “…got married ones.” She walks over to the kitchen leaving a rather perplexed looking John. John watches Sherlock move about the flat while still attempting to induce some sort of order in the space.

Mrs Hudson is heard speaking in the kitchen. “Oh, Sherlock, the mess you’ve made!” John walks over to one of the chairs and fluffs a Union Jack Flag pillow before sitting down. Sherlock is opening a laptop.

John points at the laptop. “I looked you up on the internet last night.”

Sherlock turns towards John. “Anything interesting?”

John responds, “Found your website, the Science of Deduction.” He has a small smile and a slightly interested expression.

Sherlock asks, “What did you think?”

John responds, “You said you could identify a software designer by their tie and an airplane pilot by their left thumb?” His expression is a little hard to read, but the tone suggests he may be ‘having him on’ again.

Sherlock says, “Yes, and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother’s drinking habits on your mobile phone.”

John smiles quite enigmatically. “How?” Sherlock is considering whether or not to answer—he thinks John would appreciate his deductions but does not wish to alienate him—when Mrs Hudson walks up to him holding a newspaper.

She asks, “What about these suicides, then, Sherlock? I thought that’d be right up your street. Three exactly the same…” Sherlock looks out the window out onto the street where he sees DI Lestrade getting out of his police car. He’s wearing a long dark coat over a white wrinkled button down shirt tucked into a pair of black trousers.

Sherlock says, “Four. There’s been a fourth, and there’s something different about this one. Something new.” He sees Lestrade coming up the stairs, running out of breath as he nears the top.

As Lestrade clears the last step, Sherlock asks, “Where?” Lestrade enters the room and puts his hands in his pockets.

He says, “Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.”

Sherlock looks at him with a particularly piercing look. “What’s new about this one? You wouldn’t have come get me if there wasn’t something different.”

Lestrade responds, “You know how they never leave notes?”

“Yeah”

Lestrade cocks his head to the side briefly. “This one did. Will you come?”

Sherlock has a calculating look. “Who’s on forensics?”

Lestrade responds, “It’s Anderson” Sherlock looks away and scowls.

“Anderson won’t work with me.” Sherlock is looking at John who is looking on with minor interest. John doesn’t seem to be noticing anything different about Lestrade.

_He either does not remember, or he can’t simply recognize other souls like I can. Possibly both._

Lestrade is slightly agitated. “Well, he won’t be your assistant.”

Sherlock looks back at Lestrade glaring slightly in annoyance. “I need an assistant.”

“Will you come?” Lestrade looks expectantly. It’s interesting and Sherlock needs a case. There’s no question.

Sherlock says, “Not in a police car. I’ll be right behind.”

Lestrade says, “Thank you.” He exits down the stairs. Sherlock waits until Lestrade is an acceptable distance away before showing his true reaction: jumping around the flat like a hyperactive child and smiling like the madman he is.

“Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides and now a note. Oh, it’s Christmas!” Sherlock starts getting his usual long coat and scarf ensemble on. “Mrs Hudson I’ll be late. Might need some food.”

Mrs Hudson says, “I’m your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper.”

Sherlock continues his demands unabated. “Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home.” He opens the door to exit. “Don’t wait up” He’s bounding down the stairs, excitement still visible in his expression. He’s about to exit the building when he hears John shout from inside the flat.

“Damn my leg!” Sherlock pauses at the door. John is an Army Doctor and the reincarnation of the most interesting being he has met in either of his lives in Middle Earth. Sherlock needs an assistant. John would make a very good assistant. Sherlock goes buck up to the flat pretending he forgot his gloves. He finds John sitting in the chair looking at his case in the newspaper.

Sherlock smiles slightly while putting on his gloves. “You’re a doctor.” John startles and looks up at Sherlock. “In fact, you’re an army doctor.”

John looks down, grabs his cane, and stands up. “Yes.”

Sherlock asks, “Any good?” He looks at John with piercing grey blue eyes.

John responds with pride. “Very good.”

“Seen a lot of injuries then?” Their eyes meet. Sherlock begins to stalk over to John; his voice holds an almost seductive tenor. “Violent deaths?” Sherlock’s voice gets both softer and deeper as he continues talking. He’s stalking closer to John.

“Yes” John is the perfect picture calm except for the faint blush that has reappeared in his face.

“Bit of trouble, too, I bet?” Sherlock’s practically looming over John now, looking at him with a very intense gaze. The closer Sherlock gets the redder John’s face becomes, although he never lets his composure break.

“Of course, yes. Enough for more than a lifetime. Far too much.” They don’t break eye contact through the whole exchange. There is a tension there and Sherlock feel excitement and anticipation in his chest. He can already tell what John’s answer will be.

“Want to see some more?”

“Oh God, yes.” Sherlock turns and smiles wide, John falling naturally into step behind him. They head down the stairs, moving in tandem.

John says, “Sorry, Mrs Hudson, I’ll skip the tea. Off out.”

Mrs Hudson asks, “Both of you?” Sherlock turns around to see her standing near John.

Sherlock starts sauntering up to them. “Impossible suicides, four of them. There’s no point sitting at home when…” He trots over and grabs Mrs Hudson by the shoulders. “…there’s finally something fun going on!” He kisses her on the cheeks.

Mrs Hudson says, “Look at you, all happy, it’s not decent.” She slaps him lightly on the arm in admonishment.

Sherlock turns around quite dramatically and starts strutting towards the door. “Who cares about decent?” John starts to follow him. “The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!” Sherlock is once again smiling like a madman out of Bedlam. He exits the building and calls for a cab. One stops almost immediately. Sherlock and John enter the cab.

 

* * *

 

John looks out the window of the cab as Sherlock checks information with his mobile. John’s eyes repeatedly flick over to look at Sherlock in a not-so-inconspicuous manner. Sherlock looks up from his mobile to look at John.

Sherlock says, “Okay, you’ve got questions?”

John immediately responds as he looks towards Sherlock. “Yeah, where are we going?”

“Crime scene. Next?”

John looks down then back at Sherlock. “Who are you? What do you do?”

“What do you think?”

John looks. “I’d say private detective...”

“But?”

John looks at Sherlock again. “But the police don’t go to private detectives.”

Sherlock smiles. “I’m a consulting detective, only one in the world. I invented the job.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means when the police are out of there depth, which is always, they consult me.” Sherlock looks out the window.

John says, “The police don’t consult amateurs.” The words feel like blow to his pride. Sherlock begins to feel the familiar need to prove himself despite the fact that it has never gained him friends in the past. The innocent smile on John’s face only increases the urge. Against his better judgement, Sherlock begins to show off.

“When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said Afghanistan or Iraq, you looked surprised.”

“Yes, how did you know”

“I didn’t know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. And your conversation as you entered the room...” _Bit different from my day._ “...said trained at Barts, so army doctor, obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists. You’ve been abroad but not sunbathing. Your limps really bad when you walk but you don’t ask for a chair when you stand like you’ve forgotten about it, so it’s at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic, wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan, Afghanistan or Iraq.” Sherlock ends giving the Q in Iraq a particular emphasis. John still looks slightly confused.

John says, “You said I had a therapist.”

“You’ve got a psychosomatic limp. Of course you’ve got a therapist.” John smiles as Sherlock speaks.

Sherlock continues, “Then there’s your brother.”

“Hmm?” John raises an eyebrow.

Sherlock flips the phone continuously, showing all to places that he draws facts from to deduce. “Your phone, It’s expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player. And you’re looking for a flatshare. You wouldn’t waste money on this; it’s a gift, then. Scratches—not one, many over time. It’s been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn’t treat his one luxury item like this, so it’s had a previous owner. Next bit’s easy. You know it already.” Sherlock turns the phone so that the engraving— _To Harry Love Clara XXXX_ —is visible to John.”

John furrows his eyebrows. “The engraving?”

Sherlock nods and enters into a long deduction with accompanying gestures of the head and hands, and facial expressions. “Harry Watson—clearly a family member who’s given you his old phone. Not your father. This is a young man’s gadget. Could be a cousin, but you’re a war hero who can’t find a place to live. Unlikely you’ve got an extended family, certainly not one you’re close to, so brother it is. Now Clara, who’s Clara? Four kisses says it’s a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently. This model’s only six months old. Marriage in trouble then. Six months on and he’s just giving it away. If she’d left him he would have kept it. People do, sentiment. But no, he wanted to get rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you. That says he wants you to stay in touch. You’re looking for cheap accommodation, but you’re not going to your brother for help. That says you’ve got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife. Maybe you don’t like his drinking.”

“How can you possibly know about the drinking?”

Sherlock smiles. “Shot in the dark. Good one though. Power connection...” Sherlock flips the phone to show the port the power cord plugs into; it has a multitude of tiny scratches. “...tiny little scuffmarks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man’s phone never see a drunk’s without them. There you go, you see, you were right.” Sherlock is starting to feel mildly sullen now that the urge to prove himself is gone. People always ask for him to prove he’s clever but they _never_ appreciate the result. It’s disheartening. He needs an audience, all geniuses do, but it seems like he can’t have an appreciative one.

John asks, “ _I_ was right? Right about what?”

“The police don’t consult amateurs.” Sherlock suspects that any second he’ll be told off, again, and this burgeoning friendship will be in tatters. John should like his deductions, in theory, but then most people should like his deductions in theory. It’s when he brings up the dirty little secrets, like a drunk brother, that it all starts to fall apart.

“That, was amazing.” _What?_

Sherlock looks at John in slight befuddlement. “Do you think so?” _John is very polite. It could just be politeness._

John nods. “Yes, of course it was. It was extraordinary, it was quite, extraordinary.” _John actually appreciates it._ Sherlock feels a pleasant warm feeling settle in his chest.

Sherlock says, “That’s not what people normally say.”

“What do people normally say?”

“Piss off.” Sherlock looks at John and briefly smiles. John looks away while trying, and failing, to stifle giggles. Sherlock feels the smile appear on his face as he stifles his own faint urge to giggle. It feels nice. The rest of the ride continues in this silent camaraderie the two have managed to create, the brilliant madman and the good incredible person who appreciates the madman’s brilliance. Something slots into place that Sherlock never realised he was even missing. He’s looking forward to the result.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not going to be updating this story for a while. The earliest a new chapter may come out is around the end of the year. The main reason for this is access. I’m waiting for the extended edition of the movie to come out to get it and I want the scenes to be accurate and not based on my shoddy memory. Also, some dreams happen in movies that have not hit markets yet. I was going to use the book and just change the tone and focus to fit the movie version better but I like having the movie as a guide. Some parts may end up being delayed until future movies come to theatres. New instalments and DVD’s will also renew my interest, which has been lacking ever since I went to see Star Trek, making it easier to write, which is already slightly trying as I am watching the scenes as I write to get what dialogue is staying right. Thus, prolonged hiatus but not abandoned. I will come back to this I promise.


End file.
